


A Case of Empties

by osaraba



Category: Durham County, Hard Core Logo (1996)
Genre: Breathplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Challenge: midsummer_2010, Community: c6d_universe, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-01
Updated: 2010-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-19 21:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osaraba/pseuds/osaraba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Random crazies in Toronto with anger management issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Case of Empties

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idreamedmusic](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=idreamedmusic).



> As always, thanks to laescivia, my lovely beta. <3

His heart was pounding in his throat, his hands shaking. He was riding the high; the adrenaline rush of pounding the motherfucking bastard through the floor. The endorphine rush of knowing they were going to find the evidence to put the bastard away. He wanted to feel triumph, vindication, satisfaction. But all he could feel was the rage still singing through his veins, his breath coming rapidly, his face contorted in a grin or maybe a grimace.

It was like sex. And it was no surprise that he was hard in his pants.

He’d just beat someone unconscious and all he wanted to do was continue.

Mike pulled off his gloves and made the call quickly. Pausing only to make sure the police were taking the call seriously before calmly – oh so calmly – walking out of the apartment building and letting the door fall shut behind him. He needed to calm himself the fuck down before meeting Nathalie. Pure, sweet Nathalie who didn’t deserve to be tainted by his angry hands… but who was his anchor in the chaos his life had become.

But he was like a junkie on a high, unable to come down even though he could see the end drawing near.

Mike turned into an alley, unseeing. Greasy stains from routinely discarded bags of unfinished lunches smeared across the narrow expanse. The only light came from a bulb that would barely light a bathroom much less a dark alley. He’d later question whether – somewhere, in the back of his mind – he’d retained enough sense not to beat the wall and fuck up his hands even more, or if it had just been an impulse to pick up the wooden crate and smash it against the wall instead. Maybe the light had fallen just so. Maybe the crate had had a smear of color. A logo. Something that attracted his attention.

Wood broke apart and truthfully Mike couldn’t have cared less had the splinters embedded themselves in his skin. But his updrawn hood protected him. The rage in his head was loud and his throat burned from the silent, gasping breaths resonating in his ears.

He jerked, startled to hear the low voice come out of the shadows.

“Jesus fucking christ. Even random crazies in fucking _Toronto_ have fucking anger management issues.”

Mike quickly noted the appearance of the other man – torn shirt under a dirty trenchcoat, spiked hair, a quirk of a smile on his lips that didn’t reach his eyes. A lit cigarette dangled between his lips and—

Mike pulled out his gun and pointed it at the guy, arms and hands surprisingly steady, widening his stance; training taking over. “Put the gun on the ground.”

“What? What the fuck?” He looked down, seemingly surprised to see what he held.

“Put. The fucking. Gun. On the ground.” He gestured. “And take a step away, slowly, with your hands on your head.” Mike took a threatening step forward, keeping his arms extended, gun trained on the guy. “I suggest you do it quickly; I’m not in the fucking mood tonight to—”

“Fantastic.” The cigarette bobbed in his mouth as he spoke. He made no effort to reach for it. His empty hand still spread wide, arm away from his body. He bent slowly, placing the gun down on the ground and immediately took a couple steps back, hands on his head.

Mike rushed forward and picked up the gun. “Turn around and put your hands on the wall.”

“Okay, okay, okay. Look—the gun’s not even load—”

“Shut the fuck up! Did I say you could talk?! Put your hands on the wall and spread your legs!” Mike knew he should probably identify himself as a cop, but he wasn’t supposed to be here. Not tonight. Not fucking tonight of all nights.

The guy did as he was told, though Mike had almost hoped he’d be an idiot and force him to get rough. His blood was still up and he was still looking for a fight. With just the oen free hand, Mike checked – the guy had been telling the truth – and put the empty gun in the back waistband of his dark jeans. He slammed the guy up against the wall and held the gun to the small of his back, pressing close. Sparks flew up from where the cigarette dragged against the brick and tore in half. Mike ignored the rush it gave him. Tried to ignore how hard he was.

“OW! What the fuck!”

Mike pulled back and tucked his own gun away before patting the guy down, making sure to check his pockets for bullets. When he didn’t find anything else threatening, he stepped back a little. Far enough for the guy to turn around. But not too far. Still close enough to threaten.

“What’s the gun for?”

The guy laughed. It sent the blood rushing through his head. What kind of idiot laughed in this situation? Instead of answering, the guy said “Hi, I’m Billy. Who the fuck are you?”

“What’s the gun for, Billy?”

Billy’s lips turned down into a frown. One of those unwilling ones that you just can’t hold back sometimes. “Look, I told you – it’s not even loaded. It’s not for anyone; it’s not for myself either. What difference does it make?” Billy reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes and ignored the way Mike pulled out his gun again. Mike watched the flicker of the lighter flame as Billy’s hands shook, trying to light the cigarette. He waited until it was lit before stepping up and punching Billy in the stomach with his free hand.

Billy lost his second cigarette when he doubled over, and Mike stepped up close and straightened him up, pressing and arm under Billy’s chin and sandwiching him against the rough bricks. “I’m not going to ask again, Billy.”

Billy laughed again, coughing as his breath wheezed past his lips. “You know, you remind me of someone I used to know. Well, a little. Not so much the anger, maybe, but definitely _this_.” Billy’s hands moved quick and cupped his hand over Mike’s erection. And Mike really couldn’t help it, it felt so good; all he could do was press up into the pressure, even as his forearm tensed and pressed down – just a little – on Billy’s throat and Billy made choking noises that ended kind of in a groan and a laugh.

“It’s just a keepsake,” he grated out.

“What—” Mike began.

“The gun,” Billy interrupted, grinning widely. “It’s just a, you know, a memento. Of the most stubborn motherfucking cunt on the face of the—”

“What. The fuck. Are you doing.” Mike pressed down further on Billy’s throat, slowing the hands that managed to unbutton his jeans. Despite the added pressure, though, Billy kept going. Lowering the zipper while breathing in somewhat raggedly. By the time Mike felt Billy’s hand inside his underwear, stroking his cock, alternating harder and softer grips, Mike’s rapid breathing mimicked Billy’s struggling gasps.

Mike pulled back, lessening the pressure on Billy’s throat and Mike groaned and pumped faster into Billy’s fist, unexpectedly even more turned on hearing the gasps being taken to refill his lungs.

At some point he must have closed his eyes because when Billy tightened his grip abruptly, his eyes flew open and he pressed his arm hard once again into Billy’s throat. But that only caused him to cough and choke in what Mike assumed was pleasure as he returned to the previous rhythm of stroking Mike’s cock.

Mike felt a touch on his free hand, which was braced low on the wall. Billy grasped it with his own free hand and pulled it over to the front of his jeans, pressing his hips upward against the friction.

And Mike froze.

And it wasn’t so much the typical “ohmygod I’ve got another guy’s dick in my hand” kind of reaction as opposed to a sudden realization of exactly what was going on here, how he’d gotten here tonight, and the things that had pushed him onto this road in the first place.

The pressure Mike was putting on Billy’s throat and his pants lightened and he felt Billy’s head fall to the side. They looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes. And for a brief moment, there was a connection, an understanding of sorts – of motivations and circumstances and decisions to be made.

Mike opened his mouth to say something—but Billy beat him to it. “What, giving up so soon?”

Mike could feel his anger return. And just like that, they were back on track.

Mike instantly redoubled the pressure and smiled with satisfaction at the coughing-choking sounds he could hear Billy struggling to vocalize, gasping for air, at the same time he took Billy’s leaking cock in hand and started to return the favor.

For moments at a time, the alley resounded only with wet choking sounds – something that could easily have been mistaken for peril just as well as pleasure – alternating with gasps for air. Mike couldn’t hear the sounds he knew himself to be making. But he could feel his own heavy ragged breathing, the low vibration of the groans Billy wrung from him when he came up on the upstroke, gathering more of the wetness there and holding him so firmly it bordered pain.

And rather than a slow release, his orgasm came in an abrupt explosion; Mike was caught almost by surprise, shudders passing through his body, tremors vibrating in his limbs. He’d lowered his forehead to the forearm still straining across Billy’s throat. He could feel the muscles quivering there.

“Jesus,” Mike panted. He pulled his arm away from Billy’s throat and braced himself shakily against the wall. When Billy made an incoherent sound of deprivation, Mike could only reply, “Not done yet.”

Mike slowly brought his hands up and closed them around Billy’s throat. Billy reached down to pump into his own fist, closing his eyes, and Mike blatantly stared at Billy’s face as he came, not hiding from either the pain or the pleasure as Mike had.

They adjusted themselves the best they could in the darkness and the silence. Billy fished out a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes and patted himself down looking for a light. There was a brief flare and a strong orange glow as he took a long drag.

“Are you going to give my gun back?”

“I’d have to be a fucking idiot to give it back,” Mike responded.

And they both pretended not to notice when the dark metal skittered across the distance they’d put between them.

***

Billy thought about different types of emptiness: pain-filled and anger-filled and emptiness full of delusion. He thought about the last time he’d fallen on a case of empties and the scar he’d gotten for it. At least this time there wouldn’t be any lasting damage.


End file.
